Categories > Original > Poetry
You made it this far. What's two more hours? In L.A., it's midnight. You haven't slept in. . . How long now? You need someone to talk to. If you're caught on your phone this late, it isn't your phone anymore. No big deal. But you made a promise.
A promise that you would be there for anyone that needed you. You told them you don't care what time it is, you won't be sleeping anyway. If they needed you, you said you would be there for them. But you're not able to be or to ask them for their help.
It isn't like talking to people is keeping you from sleeping.
With you not talking to anyone, you'll still be awake at 2:45 wishing the minute hand yould MOVE. Wishing you could leave. Wishing you had someone with you. Wishing you had really given her all of your razorblades. Wishing you had something sharper.
When three turns to four, it just gets worse. Friend in L.A. can't sleep, and needs a friend. He's going through a lot. You can't help passed eleven. Twelve on weekends. Fair enouh rule. Except if you realize that bad things don't only happen in the middle of the day. When you remember all those lonely, dark, long nights when you just needed to hear another human voice that wasn't screaming at you. Shit happens at night, too. When everyone is sleeping. Everything seems peaceful. That's when all hell breaks loose.
A promise that you would be there for anyone that needed you. You told them you don't care what time it is, you won't be sleeping anyway. If they needed you, you said you would be there for them. But you're not able to be or to ask them for their help.
It isn't like talking to people is keeping you from sleeping.
With you not talking to anyone, you'll still be awake at 2:45 wishing the minute hand yould MOVE. Wishing you could leave. Wishing you had someone with you. Wishing you had really given her all of your razorblades. Wishing you had something sharper.
When three turns to four, it just gets worse. Friend in L.A. can't sleep, and needs a friend. He's going through a lot. You can't help passed eleven. Twelve on weekends. Fair enouh rule. Except if you realize that bad things don't only happen in the middle of the day. When you remember all those lonely, dark, long nights when you just needed to hear another human voice that wasn't screaming at you. Shit happens at night, too. When everyone is sleeping. Everything seems peaceful. That's when all hell breaks loose.
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